


Spectrum

by grayimperia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/pseuds/grayimperia
Summary: Saioumota Week Collection.Day One: Ouma's afraid of heaven, Saihara's terrified of hell, and Momota just believes in space.Day Two: Saihara and Ouma kill arguments and plants.Day Three: Ouma makes chocolate. Saihara watches in horror.Day Four: Momota and Ouma talk about being a hero. It doesn't go well.Day Five: Saihara gets stuck in the snow and his head.Day Six: Ouma studies. Saihara suffers.Day Seven: Saihara faces reality.





	1. Afterlife

If Ouma were a more dramatic person—or perhaps a more spiritual person—he would say his soul had become intertwined with Momota’s. The press came down, and his limbs became lighter, the coat he had worn round his shoulders at the time of his death suddenly fluttering with its own ease. 

Of course, any fun of being a ghost had been ruined by the fact that Momota seemed incapable of detecting his existence. So Ouma watched. He watched Momota rip the cable and throw the remains of his clothes down the toilet and throw up in the sink after afterwards. Ouma discovered, then, watching as Momota gripped the sink with white knuckled fingers, face pale, sweat plastering his bangs to his face that he could not leave. Not to explore, not to give privacy. 

So instead, he watched Momota with cool eyes until he climbed into the Exisal. Then, he floated in after him. Ouma noted that Momota was a diligent enough student—flipping through the pages of his manual until literally falling asleep at the Exisal’s controls.

And the lack of movement from Momota brought in the thought that if this was the afterlife, it was rather disappointing. 

Ouma had always been terrified of the idea of heaven. An eternal, unchanging fake paradise conjured up by some unknowable force. The same farces and illusions everyday with no escape, no way forward but to accept the static boredom of forever. Sure, he could speak with scholars of old in every school of thought imaginable, but all that did was remind him of the sheer bloated mass of souls that must be crammed together. All those souls enduring centuries of nothing while they experienced every pleasure of the world a thousand times over until each and every feeling ran together to the point of each sensation morphing into a meaningless slosh of nothing.

Of course, Ouma also assumed he had no reason to fear heaven—he was never going to go there if such a place existed. 

-

Saihara remembers Angie telling him and Kaede that with enough prayer, Amami would definitely make it into heaven. Kaede had hugged herself, muttering how she was glad someone could still be at peace even after dying in such a horrible way.

In retrospect, Saihara didn’t know if her guilt was hoping for some relief for her victim, or if Kaede was giving a silent prayer for upcoming fate. But for each victim—and each culprit, too—Saihara thinks of Angie’s words again. Whether her God existed didn’t seem to matter—Saihara prayed in his own way.

Seeing the blood flooding out of the press sent his stomach turning. Seeing the blank Monokuma File sent his mind reeling. Saihara walked up to the press and thought blandly that he had no idea whose remains he was praying for.

Hell was the worst thing imaginable to Saihara. Knowing death wasn’t a release, but only brought on more pain was almost too debilitating a thought sometimes. For those he condemned, he had deprived them of a few peaceful years on earth before their damnation, and for himself, it meant each and every victim he failed to protect and culprit he ousted tormenting him—no hat or Kaede or Momota to hide behind. 

But he didn’t know if he deserved to go to heaven—he was a coward and a liar and selfish and pathetic and a million other flaws that barbed his thoughts at night when he’d lock himself up in his room.

The thoughts had been particularly bad after Kaede’s death, and then Momota had rode in on his white horse to save him from himself. Momota gave him his first peaceful night’s sleep, and now something—someone—had taken Momota away.

Saihara gave the press a final look, steeling himself, and offering a prayer for Ouma. Momota didn’t need his begging—there was no chance someone as good as him wouldn’t have a perfect ending. Saihara thinks the world would just be unfair if he received anything less. But Ouma…

Saihara hoped Angie was right. A grisly death can still lead to peace.

-

Momota blinked his eyes open when the rocket landed. He was somewhere unknown, and Ouma was looking down at him, more translucent and purple than usual and staring owlishly. His breathing wasn’t painful for the first time in so long, and Momota collected himself as Ouma started talking—the words going in one ear and out the other.

What Ouma said was, “so, when you died, we transported somewhere else. Interesting—guess we really are connected. Now the question is just where are we, and what cruel capricious God decided that someone as great as me should be stuck with someone as dumb as you for eternity. I mean, you’re boring in small doses on most days. Just how am I supposed to put up with that for—”

Momota registered somewhere in Ouma’s rambling that he was in fact speaking with the boy he just killed. “You’re—Ouma, you’re dead.”

“ _We’re_ dead,” Ouma corrected. “And now we’re somewhere. No fluffy clouds, so I guess heaven’s out, but also I don’t seem to be burning and there’s no funny little horny guys jabbing you with pitchforks, sooo hell seems to be out of the equation.”

The jolt of fear subsided, and Momota raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you believed in all that stuff.”

Ouma waved his hand. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times—belief shmlief. I’m just going down my checklist.”

Momota found his way to his feet. The world around them had been replaced with the cosmos, the floor beneath them only more stars and galaxies. “Well,” he says. “I know that when you die, your atoms—”

“Oh no,” Ouma said, his bottom lip trembling as he started to sniffle. “I’m gonna be lectured about _space_ forever. I take it back—this really is hell.”

Momota rolled his eyes. “No, this is,” he glances somewhere down underneath them, and the earth seemed to wink back. His face stretched into a smile almost automatically at the sight. “This is perfect.”

He started walking, each point of the void somehow supporting him perfectly. “Hey wait!” Ouma called out. “Are you really abandoning me? But, Momota-chan! We’re soul mates! How could you—”

“We’re not soul mates, and I’m just,” he looked back down at the earth. “Going for a walk.” Ouma was still behind him, seeming oddly lost for perhaps the first time ever, and Momota glanced at him over his shoulder. “You can come, too, if you want.”

“Of course I can,” Ouma huffed. “As if I need an invitation to do what I want in my own afterlife. Also how unfair is it that our afterlife is all about your talent and not mine?”

Momota snorted. “When we get to earth, maybe you can file a complaint.”

“You know, I think I will,” Ouma said, skipping ahead. “I’m going to take it up with the management, and in a few days, I’ll be running this place.”

“Dude, I’m the only other person here,” Momota said. “What is there to run?”

A grin broke out on his face. “Well in that case, I guess I’ll just be the boss of Momota-chan. But it’s not like I wasn’t before.”

Momota opened his mouth to bark out some kind of protest, when Ouma jumped excitedly on the spot, pointing up at a part of the sky morphing before them. “Look, look! It’s changing!”

The genuine enthusiasm from Ouma caught Momota off guard, but the sudden change in scenery sending the stars fleeing in favor of a bright field and a sunny day sent Ouma practically frolicking—the bloody coat still somehow hanging on to his bony shoulders. “Well,” Momota said. “Now I have no idea what we’re gonna do.”

“You’re gonna do whatever I say!” Ouma chimed. “Like I said—I’m the boss! For forever!”

“No, you said we were soul mates or some shit, so that means we’re equal, so we’re,” he gestured vaguely. “Partners or something.”

Ouma seemed to take that into consideration as he picked at the flowers springing up by his feet. “Hmm. Momota-chan can be the boss next century.”

“Oh, bullshit—”

Saihara had sometimes thought they could argue forever and never get tired. He had also convinced himself to think anyone can have a peaceful afterlife, no matter the circumstances. 

Though there’s no one to confirm it, somehow, staring down at the twin graves before him, he knows he’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a mod for saioumota week on tumblr and twitter! I am going to attempt, thus, to do a drabble collection with fics ranging from 500-1,500 for each day, and also hopefully update my long running fic sometime this week, too. We'll see how I do, haha.


	2. Growth

Ouma prods a wilted leaf with one finger before letting his hand fall to press against the variety of brown leaves crumpled at the base of the plant. Crispy, he thinks, as they crunch under the slightest pressure. 

Saihara is concentrating hard, his hands a vice grip on the instructions Momota had left for them on a single sheet of notebook paper. Ouma’s read the simple watering directions once, and he thinks Saihara has probably read them a hundred times in his desperate scramble to find the hidden meaning that will explain the current state of all their house plants. 

“Wow,” Ouma says, still crushing together the dead leaves in his hands, pulling them apart to leave a skeleton of the seams. “Looks like you killed it, Saihara-chan.”

Saihara groans in response. “But I did everything Momota-kun said to. Ouma-kun,” he looks up at him, gaze suddenly accusatory. “You didn’t do anything like poor soda on them or put salt in—”

Ouma gasps. “Does my beloved Saihara-chan really think I would do something so vile—so cruel, so horrible—to dumb Momota-chan’s stupid plants?” He pouts, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted in my entire life.”

“I’m only asking because I know you’ve done it before,” Saihara says.

“I think you’re only asking because you’re trying to dodge the blame,” Ouma says. “And trying to hoist it on to little old me so that way when Momota-chan comes home you can show off your true colors as a dirty liar and—”

“Ouma-kun.”

“I didn’t touch Momota-chan’s stupid plants,” Ouma says. “Geeze, if I knew dating a detective would mean getting interrogated in my own home, I never would have invited you to live with me.”

“You moved in with—” Saihara shakes his head. “Never mind, that isn’t important.”

Ouma huffs. “You’re no fun, Saihara-chan. Momota-chan would have kept arguing with me.”

“Well, Momota-cha— _Momota-kun_ isn’t here right now,” he says. “And when he does get home, he’s going to be really upset and really disappointed that all his plants are dead.”

“And then you’ll apologize and buy him new ones and he can name and sing to those,” Ouma says. Saihara raises an eyebrow at the end of his statement and Ouma snickers, “have you ever seen Momota-chan garden?”

Saihara bites his lip. “He did refer to a lot of them by names on the instructions… maybe I just got the names confused?”

Ouma skips over to stand on his tip toes to look at the note in Saihara’s hands. “Maybe you didn’t sing enough.”

“I don’t think that would have any affect,” Saihara says.

“I think you’re just shy and don’t want to sing,” Ouma says.

Saihara sighs. “I’m not going to argue with you—if you want someone to fight with, you’re going to have to wait until Momota-kun gets back.”

“What are you talking about? I hate fighting. Saihara-chan, why are you being so mean and lying about how much I hate fighting? Do you really think I’m just going to take a lie like that lying down?”

“I’m sure Momota-kun will be happy to argue with you as much as you want when he comes home,” Saihara says. “I’m going to go try and look up plant care and…” he tugs at his bangs. “Maybe at least have an explanation for this…”

“And I’m saying just buy replacements!” Ouma says. “Momota-chan will never know the difference.”

“Ouma-kun, you were the one who told me he sings to them,” Saihara says. “I think he’ll notice.”

“He will not.”

“He will, t—no,” Saihara starts to leave the room. “I’m not doing that with you. I know you miss him, but he’ll be back soon.”

Saihara pads out of the room, leaving Ouma alone to pout with the few browning plants. He flicks another dead leaf and mumbles to himself that of course he doesn’t miss someone as dumb as Momota and he’s delighted to be left all alone with his beloved Saihara.

The leaf he abused falls to the ground. Momota left and they all started to wilt. Ouma absently wonders if plants can die from loneliness, too.

-

The thing about dating Saihara is that there are a lot of quiet moments of studying or chores or work or any number of other boring things. The most exciting puzzles that cross the desk of a regular detective are usually the morning crossword, and Ouma had felt like his brain was going to melt if Saihara read one more clue aloud to him. 

Of course, it’s not like staring at his newly bought shrub was particularly entertaining either. The woman at the shop had told him that it was an easy to care for plant, which to Ouma meant that Momota would only complain a little about having its cared pawned off on him. Or maybe he would be happy to have a replacement—despite his best efforts Saihara was doing an excellent job at killing the rest of his garden. The other day, Ouma had eyed one of their remaining plants and wondered if he really should lie about putting salt in the watering can to make Saihara feel better.

The tiny plant in front of him offers no advice. 

Saihara entering through the door, stopping and blinking at the new plant, also offers no advice. “Oh, you bought Momota-kun a new—”

“No,” Ouma says. “This is mine. Momota-chan can suck it.”

Saihara seems unsure how to handle that response and stutters through his reply. “Uh—uh-huh. Are you sure you didn’t get it to replace the ones I…”

He trails off as his failures smack him over the head again. Ouma keeps his staring contest with his succulent going as he says, “don’t take it too hard. I did put salt in the watering—”

“No,” Saihara sighs. “You didn’t. I already checked. But… thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

He sits next to him with another quiet sigh. After a moment, Ouma says, “You’re a terrible gardener. Just the worst.”

“I’m still not going to fight with you.”

“I’m not picking a fight,” Ouma says. “I’m just stating a fact.”

“I know,” Saihara says. “I was just hoping… I don’t know,” he brings his knees up to his chest. “Momota-kun’s not going to be mad. Just kind of sad, but that’s usually worse.”

Ouma rolls his eyes. “Momota-chan’s gonna be disappoint, yeah, but he’s not going to think you’re a disappointment. Geeze, Saihara-chan, it’s not that hard to figure out how Momota-chan thinks, especially after all this time.”

Saihara seems caught off guard by that and blinks at him. “Oh, um, I guess you’re right. Thank you, Ouma-kun—for trying to make me feel better and everything. You know, I was thinking this morning—”

“—when you were doing your boring crossword puzzle—”

“—that you really have grown a lot,” Saihara finishes. “I think it just sorta hit me all at once, and I was caught off guard.”

“I haven’t changed at all,” Ouma says. “I’m exactly the same. Saihara-chan’s the one who’s going senile.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

“Aw, come on, just for like five seconds,” Ouma says. “You suck and plants hate you.”

“I know.”

Ouma sticks his tongue out. “You’re taking all the fun out of it.”

“I know.”

“And now I just feel sorry for you.”

“Yeah,” Saihara says. “Because you’ve come a long way and feel bad when you make people upset.”

“No,” Ouma says. “Supreme leaders usually get annoyed when someone is just sooo pathetic. You know what,” he lifts the small potted plant. “I think I’ve decided that I’m gonna name this tiny, puny, horribly sad plant Shumai.”

“That’s mean, Ouma-kun.”

“It makes you mad, huh? Makes you wanna take me down a peg, right? Show me what’s what, and—”

“I think you should sing to it,” Saihara says. “That’s what Momota-kun does with his plants after all.”

Ouma gets a gleam in his eye. “Well, if my darling Saihara-chan says so.”

And Saihara sits calmly through the provocation of the most ear splinting medley of children’s songs possible, smiling placating each time Ouma asks if he wants an encore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to do a bit more of a focus on Ouma and Saihara's relationship though I feel a bit rusty writing them. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	3. Sweets

Saihara is unsure if he thinks it was very kind of Amami to help Ouma in his endeavor to create homemade chocolate or if it was a premeditated act of cruelty. He had thought the former when Ouma had beamed delightedly, and Amami had taken the bullet of a grocery store trip to buy correct and questionable ingredients in equal measure. The latter theory had begun to gain ground when Saihara had volunteered to help put away their newly acquired supplies and pulled hot sauce, instant coffee, and squid from the bags Amami had placed on their once innocent kitchen counter. 

Ouma banished him from the kitchen, then, claiming that he would ruin the surprise if he stayed any longer. Saihara had left, painfully aware of Amami not seeming to see the fear in his eyes. 

Now, Saihara sits on their couch, flinching at each rattling sound or giggle floating out of the kitchen. After hearing Amami says, “Ouma-kun, I think that’s too much sugar,” for the fourth time in a row—each time as amazingly placid and unconcerned as the one before—Saihara sends a quick panicked text to Momota. 

**user:** Momota-kun, you’re coming home in an hour, right?

 **Momota-kun:** should be 

**Momota-kun:** why something happening 

**user:** Um

Saihara hears Ouma cackle. Amami says, “I don’t think the recipe says anything about honey, but cooking is about experimenting, right? Does… four cups sound good?”

“Five is better!”

 **user:** Ouma-kun is trying to bake. 

**Momota-kun:** do i need to buy a new microwave on my way home

 **user:** I don’t think so, just…

 **user:** Try to be nice and eat a little of whatever he makes, okay? 

**user:** I do think he’s trying his best, so we should be supportive.

 **Momota-kun:** sure thing just as long as theres nothing weird in it like squid or whatever 

**user:** Haha, right.

 **user:** There’s definitely

 **user:** No squid.

Saihara winces as he types, silently bemoaning the fact that he’s somehow an even worse liar through text.

Ouma skips into the room, giving Saihara an opportunity not to respond to whatever dubious reaction Momota has surely had to his messages. “Ah, so, um,” Saihara begins. “Did you finish?”

“Yup,” Ouma says. “Amami-chan says we should let them cool overnight, but that sounds boring. Personally, I think we should deep freeze them in dry ice so it’ll all be ready by the time Momota-chan comes home. You know how impatient he is, after all.”

“Er, right,” Saihara says. “So where’s Amami-kun?”

“Putting them in the freezer,” Ouma replies with a pout. “He’s so mean and didn’t like my dry ice plan. Can you believe how mean Amami-chan is? You’d buy dry ice for me, right, Saihara-chan?”

Saihara knows for a fact he absolutely would not. “Maybe… for a special occasion.”

“Yay!” Ouma says. “Saihara-chan is the best!”

Ouma jumps on to the couch beside him, babbling about how he knows his beloved Saihara-chan will be head over heels for his cooking. Saihara smiles along, attempting to decode how much of Ouma’s words are his usual put upon over the top enthusiasm and how much seems to be genuine joy at accomplishing something. 

Amami joins them, and his description that the chocolates came out, “really, like, round and boneless and stuff,” seems to please Ouma as much as it worries Saihara. 

When Ouma briefly excuses himself to check on the chocolates to make sure Amami didn’t put them away wrong, Saihara quietly asks, “so, um, Amami-kun, is anything actually… edible?”

Amami pauses, seeming to consider the idea for the first time. “Good question,” he says.

Ouma returns, Saihara feels dread, and the hour until Momota arrives home and whatever abomination Ouma has lovingly concocted exits their refrigerator ticks by far too quickly.

Momota enters their apartment in his usual loud way, announcing, “Hey, something smells good.”

Saihara can’t quite tell if Ouma’s smile is excited or sinister as he bounds off to greet Momota and drag him into the kitchen.

Amami remains as serene as ever as he meanders towards what Saihara can only see as their three way suicide pact. He takes the trip towards certain death with a touch more hesitance and enters the kitchen at the sight of Ouma placing a tray of half solidified blobs of something resembling chocolate before them. 

“Hey, these look really, uh,” Momota says, searching for anything positive to say. “Boneless.”

“That’s what Amami-chan said!” Ouma gleefully replies. 

“Haha, I sure did,” Amami says before turning to look expectantly as Saihara. “Alright, you guys should go ahead and try one.”

“Ah, but you made them,” Saihara says. “So it’s only fair that you would get to try one first.”

Amami’s carefree smile suddenly seems to have a touch of fear in it. “But Ouma-kun made them for you—I was just the assistant.”

“Maybe, but you also bought all of the ingredients,” Saihara says. “So it really makes sense for—”

He cuts himself off at the sight of Ouma suddenly teary eyed, bottom lip trebling dramatically. “You—you don’t think I did a good job, do you? After I worked so hard out of love—”

“They’re really not that bad,” Momota says, his words slightly muffled as he chews while he talks. Saihara stares wide eyed at the sight of Momota casually finishing the chocolate in his mouth and going back for a second. “Probably should of let them cool longer, but, eh, they’re pretty alright.”

Ouma starts to go on a dramatic speech about how Momota-chan is the only one with any faith in him as Saihara exchanges a look of pure shock with Amami that Momota is somehow still alive. Momota finishes his next piece, and says, “you guys should try some,” and pops a third into his mouth.

With the confirmation that Ouma didn’t create actual poison, Saihara gives another quick glance to Amami before taste testing a small piece. As a child, Saihara remembers eating candy that was mostly pure sugar with some vague fruit flavoring or sampling sugar cubes before his uncle could stir them into his tea. Neither compares to the taste currently overwhelming all of his senses. He had not previously been aware that it was possible to make something sweet enough to burn out all other feelings to the point of gagging at first contact.

Saihara coughs into his hands, fighting every urge to expel the thing masquerading as food currently in his mouth, as Momota eats a fourth and Ouma looks up at him with sparklingly eyes, asking, “do you love it?”

His eyes are watering as he nods, managing, “uh—uh-huh,” through his coughs. 

Amami seems to be in a similar state of distress as he answers, “they’re—they’re really good, Ouma-kun.”

Ouma bounces in place, clearly satisfied with their reactions, and Saihara can’t tell if he believes their incredibly poor lying or is gaining some pleasure at forcing them to eat a neutron star of condensed sugar. 

Ouma eats one of his own creations, chews it over, and says, “Hey, Amami-chan, where did you put the honey?”

“Oh, it’s right behind you,” Momota answers instead. 

Saihara watches in muted horror as his boyfriends proceed to douse the remaining chocolates with even more sugar. He finally swallows, and Amami leans over to whisper, “I don’t think you’re dating humans.”

“Ah, uh,” Saihara says. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though the week has long since passed, I'm still doing these, haha. I've been very busy lately, but I wanted to get at least one more fic out before my birthday tomorrow just to finish off another year of writing for me on a good (sweet) note.


	4. Jealousy

Momota isn’t proud of the thought that flitters through his head when everyone turns to Saihara for guidance, leadership, advice, or whatever else. 

A part of himself that’s been getting louder and louder since the killing game began whispers in the back of his mind that in investigations, he’s really little more than the cheering section. In trials, it’s easy enough for him to see when someone has fallen and offer them a hand, but it’s all he can do as Saihara leaps through deduction after deduction not to slow him down. 

Saihara moves through a crime scene with a grace he only takes on after someone has died. Momota knows Saihara’s ashamed of that, but he can’t help but admire it. He watches his sidekick furrow his brow at this or that or place his hand to his chin in thought. Whatever connections Saihara seems to see between a bottle of poison and a computer program are lost on him, and Momota feels like he’s wading through molasses to get to the truth when the lights of understanding start to spark in Saihara’s eyes.

Momota doesn’t like the voice that whispers to him that maybe he is an idiot when Saihara zaps him out of the virtual world, leaving his body and brain reeling. 

He doesn’t like waking up again in the computer room to Ouma giggling. “Welcome back, Momota-chan!” he says. “Saihara-chan get bored of babysitting you already?”

Maki’s busy watching over Monotaro hunting and pecking away at a keyboard and Gonta’s still stuck in a general state of confusion. Neither of them pay Momota any attention when he growls at Ouma. “Shut up—and were you being creepy and fucking hovering over me?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ouma says. “I just came to check up on you when you screamed, and then I just got so concerned about my dearest Momota-chan that I had to come to his rescue.”

Momota would bite back at a number of things in that statement, though he belatedly realizes that perhaps he did let out a scream—a manly scream of surprise only, of course—when he had suddenly been logged out. Instead he responds, “Well obviously I’m fine—just help me get back in.”

“Aww, but I want to solve this mystery first,” Ouma says, tapping his chin. “Momota-chan suddenly logged out of the program world without warning and wants to go back. So what happened here? Hmmm…”

Momota stiffens. Ouma says, “Could it be that Momota-chan got kicked out unexpectedly? My oh my, looks like Saihara-chan really did get tired of having to put up with you.”

Momota’s gut twists even as he forces himself to appear nonchalant, rolling his eyes at the accusation. “No, don’t be stupid. I was just… helping Shuuichi with an experiment. You know—for the investigation.”

Ouma keeps grinning, and Momota knows he’s lost whatever battle was being waged between them. “Uh-huh. Looks like he’s really grateful for all your help, sidekick.”

“Hey!” Momota barks without thinking. “I’m not—”

“Oh did I say something bad?” Ouma says. “Is there something wrong with that? If there is, you should tell me since I’m Saihara-chan’s sidekick now, and us sidekicks should stick together.”

Momota knows exactly why the sentiment bothers him so much, but he clenches his jaw in response. “What is with you? This isn’t just about me being a suspect or whatever, is it?”

Ouma smirks at him but otherwise remains silent. Momota says, “You’re gonna clam up now? Really?”

“Hmm, well you didn’t answer my question,” Ouma says. “So why should I answer yours? That doesn’t seem very fair.”

Their glaring match lasts a few more moments, and Momota breaks first, losing another battle. “I need to get back to Shuuichi.”

Ouma laughs. “Aw, but I was having fun. You and Saihara-chan are always so boring together—guess it really was for the best that you’re broken up now.”

“Dude, just because you whined at Shuuichi into letting you collect alibis together doesn’t mean me and Shuuichi aren’t friends anymore,” Momota says. “How the hell do you even make that connection?”

“Friends…” Ouma says. “Okay, sure. You’re friends now—all rainbows and sunshine—but could you be friends if things were the other way around?”

His question confuses Momota, but he doesn’t miss the pointed jab trying to snag somewhere through his armor. “What are you talking about? Me and Shuuichi are always gonna be friends, no matter if things change. And you can’t fucking call me a liar about that.”

“No,” Ouma says, still smiling to himself. “I guess I can’t. After all, there’s nothing wrong with being a sidekick, right?”

Momota’s throat goes dry. “‘Course there isn’t.”

The ugly thought comes back, the one he thinks where Saihara solves a mystery too quickly or the others surround him to lavish on the praise. _You’re supposed to struggle, not me._

“Glad to hear it,” Ouma says. “And, you know, if you get bored of being Saihara-chan’s sidekick, you could come work for me instead. I’m always in the market for dumb muscle.”

“Of course you are,” Maki’s voice suddenly cuts in, and Momota looks up to see her walking towards them. “A rat can’t do anything by itself.”

She makes it clear she stands with Momota, crossing her arms and glaring dangerously down at Ouma. The triumph Momota feels at her defense vanishes as quickly as it appeared as Ouma chirps, “and it seems like Momota-chan can’t either!”

Maki isn’t as bothered by the rebuttal as Momota is and rolls her eyes. “If he’s bothering you, I can get rid of him,” she offers. 

Ouma’s grin voices Momota’s exact thoughts that taking her up on that would be proving his point. “Nah, I can handle him—was just going back into the program, anyway. Thanks, though, Harumaki.”

She tugs on her pigtails at the nickname. “Yeah. Whatever. Just don’t let him distract you from the investigation. Saihara needs your help to find the culprit.”

Momota doesn’t have the heart to tell her how unencouraging her words are. “I know. He’s probably waiting for me right now.”

“Give him a kiss for me when you see him!” Ouma says. “And tell him his real partner believes in him with all his heart!”

“Yeah, I will,” Momota says, pressing his fists together. “Because I’m his partner.”

“So that means you’re agreeing to deliver my kiss?”

Momota splutters, and Maki rolls her eyes. “Just get back to the investigation, already.”

“Oh, good idea, Harukawa-chan,” Ouma says. “There’s plenty of time for a lovers’ quarrel later.”

Ouma keeps giggling to himself as Momota indignantly presses the virtual world’s headset perhaps a bit too roughly back onto his own face.

The world turns black and white and then to the strange building Iruma had built when she was alive. Saihara’s waiting for him. And the ugly part of him thinks, Saihara’s waiting for him to cheer him on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most romantic, but I wanted to do something from Momota's perspective since I felt like he hasn't been getting as much attention so far, and the way Momota and Saihara's relationship changes in chapter 4 is lowkey something I've wanted to write about for a while. So I guess this is a condensed version of my thoughts on it!


	5. Seasons

Saihara gets cold easily. When snow covers the ground and dyes the world white, it’s all he can do to trudge from under the covers of his bed to under the covers piled atop an armchair in their living room. 

Momota gets stir-crazy when the weather’s too bad and paces endlessly, volunteering excitedly for each and every task. Ouma’s been singing off key Christmas songs for months in advance and follows him along like a living radio as he fidgets through their house. This year, Ouma’s learned to play the piano approximately one note at a time and whines that Momota’s stifling his creative genius whenever he yells at him to stop playing rudimentary songs for beginners for hours at a time. 

It all accumulates to the strangely common occurrence of Saihara curling up with a novel and hearing, “Frosty the… Snowman… had a very—”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

“—Shiny nose! And if… you ever saw it—”

“You don’t even know the words!”

“You would even say Momota-chan blows!”

How they can get so worked up when Saihara can barely feel his fingers without rubbing his hands together every few minutes, he’ll never know. Momota takes a break from letting Ouma badger him to wanders towards Saihara’s haven near the window. “Looks like it’s calmed down, outside,” he says. “Think I might shovel our driveway.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Saihara says. “I mean we’re not going anywhere for—”

“Shuuichi, I need to,” he says. 

The fire in his eyes is enough of an explanation that Saihara just offers the advice, “maybe take Ouma-kun with you—I think he’s getting a bit restless, too.”

Momota doesn’t bring up the fact that Ouma’s been driving him crazy all morning, and instead responds with calling out, “hey, Ouma! Get your shit together—we’re going outside!”

Ouma peeks his head around the corner. “Is it time for Momota-chan’s walk?” 

“I’m not a dog!”

“Suuure, whatever Momota-chan says. Just be a good boy, okay? Who’s a good boy?”

Momota growling in response only amuses Ouma further. They still manage to appear bundled up in a relatively timely manner a few minutes later. “Saihara-chaaaaan,” Ouma sings. “Come play with me!”

Ouma looks surprisingly cute when covered in so many layers that only his nose and eyes peek out from over his scarf. His tiny gloved hands tugging at Saihara’s blanket are slightly less cute. “Ah, no thank you,” he says, hoping his pulling back on the blanket won’t result in an impromptu game of tug of war. “But you can have fun with Momota-kun. I’m sure he’ll play with you, if you ask.”

Ouma abruptly drops his grip and pouts at him. “I know—I’m not a little kid. Geeze, Saihara-chan. Buuut,” he takes a second to look Saihara up and down. “It looks like you’re turning into an old man. Are you so old and ancient that your bones will freeze and break if they get too cold?”

“I—what?” Saihara asks.

“Oh no,” Ouma says. “Saihara-chan’s gotten so old he’s gone senile!”

Saihara doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so offended. “Ouma-kun, we’re the same age.”

“How will I take care of Momota-chan all alone when you keel over and die from being soooo ancient?” 

Momota’s voice comes to the rescue, “Ouma, you ready?”

“Yeah!” he says. “Beating up an old man loses its charm pretty fast.”

“What?”

Ouma giggles happily as he runs up to a thoroughly confused Momota who just shakes his head. “Anyway,” he says. “We’ll be back soon, Shuuichi. Unless, you know, you wanna come out, too.”

The sympathetic approach smoothes over any feathers Ouma had rumpled earlier, and Saihara responds, “Ah, maybe, I don’t know.” He looks out the window. “The snow’s pretty high…”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Momota says over his shoulder as he pulls their front door open. Ouma’s way ahead of him, cackling maniacally as he races out of the house.

Momota shouts at Ouma to stay out of the street as he closes the door behind him, and suddenly the whole house seems too quiet without stomping steps or badly played piano. 

Saihara insists to himself he likes the quiet as he returns to his novel. He only gets a few pages further in when the silence roaring in his ears becomes too much of a distraction, and he stares into the empty space Ouma had previously taken up. A snowball crashing against his window and making him jump, also tears his focus away from his crime drama. 

He’s expecting to see Ouma waving enthusiastically at him when he glances out the window. Saihara doesn’t know why he’s so disappointed when he sees Ouma thoroughly engaged in trying to nail Momota in the face with his next throw, and his previous one was simply a misfire. 

The whole scene outside tells a story. Momota’s abandoned his shoveling, instead devoting himself to gaining revenge on Ouma for the snow Saihara can see peeking out of the back of his jacket’s collar. But the shovel lying unattended next to what looks like a decapitated snowman tells a mystery only solved when he hears Ouma shout, “You killed Frosty!” on his next throw. 

Saihara smiles at them. He reaches for the blanket covering his legs, so ready to throw it off before his hand falls limply at his side. He looks back to Ouma and Momota making a mess of their yard. They seem so full of energy, and Saihara wonders maybe if he’s the weird one between the three of them. 

He knows Ouma was wrong, though. Saihara doesn’t feel old. He feels tired or out of place or all number of things that make him hate sitting in his chair even while he thinks how impossible it is to get up.

Their driveway isn’t about to get shoveled anytime soon. Saihara thinks just how hard it is to get from his bed to his chair every morning even when all the snow fades away, and Momota and Ouma throw water balloons instead of snowballs at each other while he watches from afar. He has his own shoveling to do. 

The door to their house slams open, and Saihara’s broken out of his reverie at Momota’s shout of, “Shuuichi, watch out!”

He jolts at the noise and discovers he was supposed to watch out for Ouma dashing towards him, hands full of snow that crashes against the back of his unprotected neck.

The physical world suddenly seems to be made of nothing more than the ice sliding down his back. Saihara scrambles out of his chair, desperately shaking out the back of his shirt. “O-Ouma-kun! Why did you—”

“Vengeance for Frosty!” Ouma shouts, darting away without explanation. 

Momota distantly yells back, “Your stupid snowman fell over on its own!”

The door slams shut again, and the house goes quiet. But Saihara remains standing, heart beating fast and melted snow still clinging stubbornly to his shirt. He marches back to his room, pulls the soggy shirt off over his head and reaches for a replacement hanging in his closet right next to the puffy snow coat Momota had bought him last winter that he never wore. 

Saihara has a half hearted thought that he hopes Momota and Ouma will still be playing when he finally gets ready. But he knows they will. He knows they could go back and forth forever. And he also knows that they’re always willing to wait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up getting the prompts mixed around a bit and wrote this without double checking, so I'll do day five's prompts tomorrow. And also I wanted to update with something Saihara centric on his birthday. Happy birthday, Saihara!


	6. Studying

Saihara was sure Ouma had been frustrated before in his life, though he had never seen it in person until now. There was a crease on his forehead that seemed so out of place that Saihara had to repeatedly remind himself not to stare. Drawing attention to anything would only make the situation worse and prolong his suffering. Though at this point, he was beginning to debate the merits of throwing a fit himself.

As it stood, they had been in the Hope’s Peak library for about five hours now. Hunger was beginning to set in. Ouma’s staring contest with his notes was in a deadlock. Saihara fidgeted in his chair, debating the merits in asking his question before finally venturing, “Ouma-kun, maybe we should take a break for dinner or pick this up tomorrow.”

Ouma doesn’t acknowledge him. Saihara fiddles with the pen he had been worrying in his hands for the better part of an hour. “Ouma-ku—”

“That’s quitter talk, Saihara-chan,” Ouma says without looking up. “And I don’t associate with quitters.”

Part of Saihara—the hungry part—couldn’t help but think that meant freedom. What came out of his mouth instead was, “It’s not quitting. It’s just taking a break when you feel like you’re hitting your head against a wall.”

“I’m not hitting my head against a wall,” Ouma answers. “I’m learning.”

The downright murderous look Ouma had been sporting towards his note that made Saihara unsure if he was going to read or strangle them begged to differ. Saihara glances down at his own study materials and sighs. If this was going to be resolved gently, he wouldn’t currently be debating eating his homework. 

“Ouma-kun,” he says. “I know you were upset about the last test, but—”

“What are you talking about,” Ouma says blandly. “Last test went great.”

“Yeah,” Saihara says. “You got third in the class.”

That’s the straw that causes Ouma to finally look up at him, a deeply unamused expression on his face. “And Saihara-chan got sixth because he’s a dumb idiot and no one likes him.”

Normally Saihara would hold his tongue and try again at patient negotiation. The situation of Ouma whining incessantly for him to come to the library and then promptly ignoring him for hours on end was not normal. “‘Dumb idiot,’” Saihara says, “is redundant, which is probably why Momota-kun did better than you on the composition portion.”

Ouma didn’t glare at him. Instead, in the face of Saihara managing to discover something he was sensitive about for the first time ever and proceeding to taunt him over it, Ouma appeared rather calm. The storm came when Saihara nearly hit his head on the table in order to duck the textbook that flew right past where his face had been.

While Ouma showing genuine anger was a rarity, Ouma screeching in his face and getting them both kicked out of the library was too common for Saihara’s tastes. But it was enough of a return to normality for Saihara to respond more rationally to Ouma’s pouting.

“I can’t believe Saihara-chan would be so mean and get me kicked out like that,” Ouma says, lower lip jutting out. “Now where am I supposed to study? All I was trying to do was be a good student—why is life so unfair?”

“Well, I think it’s pretty reasonable the librarian got upset with you for, um, threatening to burn down the library starting with my hair.”

Ouma sighs. “For two seconds, you wouldn’t have had the world’s worst hat hair. Ah, it’s so sad to think about what could have been…”

Saihara’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Right. But anyway, I think we’re done for the day.”

Ouma clicks his tongue. “No, _you’re_ done for the day. I can still keep going fine.”

“You know,” Saihara says, taking a moment to look over Ouma and his renewed haughty expression. “It is good that you want to study and do better, but you shouldn’t—”

“Anyway, I can’t waste my precious time with a slacker like you,” Ouma says, pivoting on his heel. “Bye-bye, Saihara-chan!”

Saihara watches him take the first few steps, and he almost misses his chance before he calls out. “Ah, wait—Ouma-kun, where are you going to study?”

Ouma looks at him over his shoulder with a challenging grin. “Oh? Is Saihara-chan already up for another round?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” Saihara says. “After I…” 

The growl of his stomach finishes his sentence, and Ouma smirks in response. They play their usual game of half taunts half answers with a touch more impatience than usual, but Saihara gets the information he needs and Ouma skips away.

Saihara waits about fifteen minutes before sending a text that contains one of his better lies.

Part of him feels bad about tricking Ouma. But another part of him acknowledges that opportunities to give him a taste of his own medicine are so rare that it would almost be a crime not to take it. And another part of him feels justice has been served as he gets a barrage of texts from Ouma announcing their friendship is canceled while Saihara finally reunites with his long awaited dinner.

He’d feel a bit bad about tricking Momota, too, if the responses he had gotten back hadn’t been so overjoyed.

It’s less a look of frustration Ouma is sporting the next day, and more an outright, deep-seated scowl. Saihara watches him out of the corner of his eye during class as Ouma methodically folds an army of paper airplanes, all too aware that each of them will likely make contact with the back of his head in due time. 

It’s still worth it when after the lecture, Momota claps Ouma on the back, grinning broadly. “Hey, don’t think I didn’t notice you were slacking off today,” he says. “You gotta pay attention and do your best if you’re gonna be my rival.”

Ouma turns towards him with a sickly sweet smile. “Momota-chan, how many times do I need to tell you that—”

“‘Cause right now you need to catch up, too!” Momota says, puffing out his chest proudly. “Long as we’re rivals, I’m gonna do everything to get ahead and be even better, so you better give me a good challenge!”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs. “I could run circles around you at literally everything, Momota-chan. Just because Momota-chan the idiot got lucky and did a little better on one stupid test doesn’t mean—”

“Ah, I see,” Momota says, clearly missing the point that Saihara sees very clearly from his position across the room. “You want a rematch. Great! That’s what a true rivalry is all about!”

Ouma snipes back that it’s not a rivalry, but simply an opportunity to put the universe back in working order. The joy Momota felt at fulfilling one of his childhood goals spurred by too much television carried him far past the matter at hand and into plans for a study session that sounded like a cage match.

The conversation is enough to make Saihara realize the image he had conjured in his mind’s eye of Momota barreling into Ouma’s study spot armed with text books and unbridled enthusiasm was probably true to reality. He realized, too, that despite their own personas or lies, his friends weren’t really that hard to read with a bit of careful study. 

His victory was only cut short by Momota casually calling out to him to gesture vaguely to the back of his head. “Uh, Shuuichi—you got a little…”

The threatening message on the inside of the paper plane Saihara removed from the back of his shirt collar read, _‘say goodbye to your hat hair.’_

Ouma beamed back at him, waving cheerfully. Well, it couldn’t hurt to study them from a cautious distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I always write Saihara with more passive, pre-development characterization, so it was fun to try and write a more sassy version of him.


	7. Reality

Saihara’s real life goes like this. He wakes up at one in the afternoon or later everyday. Yumeno is still sleeping. Maki’s on one of her hours long walks that Saihara always fears will lead to her never turning around and coming back. Everyone else is where they always are in the tentative peace they’ve carved for themselves. 

The small house in the countryside they share is always a mess despite their rather Spartan collection of possessions. It’s almost a concerted effort to keep it cluttered. Saihara weaves his way through Yumeno’s magazines strew over the floor in a carefully constructed maze, flicks on the light to the kitchen and sighs at seeing Ouma sitting on the countertop and kicking his legs back and forth like an eager child.

“Really?” Saihara says. “That’s dirty.”

“Aw, does my beloved Saihara-chan care about me?”

“Ouma-kun, please just let me make breakfast,” he says. “It’s too early to deal with this.”

Ouma cocks his head. “‘Too early?’ Have you tried looking at the time, sunshine?”

Saihara turns his head to take in the sole kitchen clock on his beloved coffeemaker. “Well,” he struggles for an argument. “It’s early for me.”

“That’s no good,” Ouma clicks his tongue. “You really need to start making an effort, Saihara-chan, otherwise you’re just going to get lamer and lamer, and that’s pretty bad when you’re already starting at zero coolness.”

He doesn’t like the line of argument, but Saihara responds, “I know it’s a bad habit… I’ll work on it.”

“And if you wake up earlier, you can play with me even more every day!”

Saihara smiles wryly. “I suppose that would be something to look forward to.”

“It is!” Ouma chirps. “Now hurry up and make me breakfast before I starve.”

Being bossed around by Ouma isn’t Saihara’s favorite, but he keeps his constant stream of babbling in the background as he puts in the effort to cook a halfway decent meal.

Yumeno meanders into the kitchen still rubbing at her tired eyes when he’s moments away from finishing. “Morning… or afternoon, I guess…” she mumbles. Then she blinks. “You made breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Saihara says. “There should be enough for everyone.”

“I hope so,” Ouma says. “Especially since Yumeno-chan is such a pig.”

Yumeno narrows her bleary eyes as Ouma starts to make oinking noises at her. She doesn’t say anything, however, until she starts to serve herself her own portion. “Is Harukawa gonna eat with us, then?”

“I… don’t know.”

“So she was already gone this morning when you woke up…” Yumeno says.

“Good riddance!” Ouma chirps. 

“Don’t say that,” Saihara softly chides before turning to Yumeno. “No, but I’m sure she’ll be back.”

“She always does come back,” Yumeno says. “Even when…”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Saihara says. “Last night, I mean. Next time I want to… talk to Harukawa-san about something, I’ll do it when we’re alone.”

Yumeno fidgets in her chair. “You don’t have to act like I’m a little kid.”

Ouma snorts. “Way to go, Saihara-chan.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Saihara says. “I just meant that it puts you in an awkward position, is all. I know I would feel uncomfortable if I was in the room and you and Harukawa-san, um…”

“Saihara-chan, when you trail off like that you know it makes what you said sound completely different, right?” Ouma says. “Like instead of arguing, you guys were—”

“I-I didn’t mean it that way,” Saihara says.

Yumeno accepts his answer with a nod of her head. “Okay, but you guys should still make up and hug and stuff when she comes back.”

“See?” Ouma says. “Yumeno-chan thinks so, too.”

Saihara pointedly ignores him, even as he still feels warmth in his cheeks from Ouma’s earlier comment. “I don’t think Harukawa-san would be too big on a hug, but, yeah, I was planning to.”

Yumeno hums, satisfied for the time being. She helps him with the dishes while Ouma contributes his usual barrage of snide comments from his perch back atop the kitchen counters. 

Saihara’s never particularly liked soap operas, but Yumeno loves them to pieces and mindlessly binging episodes through the afternoon together has become a bit of a tradition for them. Yumeno watches with rapt attention, Saihara finds the plot silly but compelling enough, and Ouma whines the entire time. “Ugh, Saihara-chaaan, I’m booored. This is boooring.”

“You can go do something else if you want,” Saihara says, lowering his voice. Obviously, he was still too loud as Yumeno turns her head just long enough to shush him. 

Ouma snickers. “You got in trouble.”

“You got in trouble, too—”

“This is a really important part,” Yumeno says. “If you keep talking, I’m gonna cast a silence spell on you.”

Saihara grows sheepish enough at that to stay quiet even as Ouma giggles. “I change my mind—this is fun.” But as frustrating as Ouma is, Saihara can’t help but think it’s a nice way to pass the day.

When the episode ends, Ouma says. “Geeze, that was so boring. Why does Yumeno-chan like this stuff?”

“That’s a good question,” Saihara muses.

“What’s a good question?” Yumeno asks, always happy to talk over the commercial break.

“Oh, just why you like these kind of shows so much,” Saihara says. “I have to admit sometimes they’re a little much for me.”

Yumeno places a finger on her lower lip. “Uh, well I guess I think the drama’s fun. Even if some stuff is kind of hard to believe, it’s still fun, you know?”

“Well,” Saihara says. “I did enjoy when the twin brother who was abducted by aliens came back, so I guess I see your point.”

“I know right? That was such a good scene,” Yumeno says. “It gets even better in the next season where his alien lover comes back and starts having an affair with his dad—oh and it turns out the dad didn’t really die, by the way.”

Ouma giggles over her explanation, and Saihara can’t help but laugh, too. “Yumeno-san, this show is weird.”

She puffs out her cheeks. “No, it’s really good.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t,” Saihara says. “It’s just a little hard to believe sometimes.”

Yumeno turns back to commercial still playing, contemplating his point. “I guess, but,” she pulls her knees to her chest. “I don’t think that really matters. Lately, it’s just kinda nice to get lost in it, though, even if it’s pretty unbelievable sometimes.”

“Yumeno-san…” he says softly. 

“Oh!” she jumps in place, her melancholy forgotten. “It’s back!”

“Uh, but Yumeno-san—”

“Shhh! This part is really good!”

Saihara just smiles at her while Ouma leans against his side.

-

Maki does come back. She enters as casually as ever—as if she hasn’t been missing for hours. Momota comes with her, and while Maki passes by the couch Yumeno and Saihara are camped out on with barely a greeting, Momota happily plops down next to Saihara. “Hey, don’t tell me you’ve been watching T.V. all day, Shuuichi.”

“Ah, sorry,” Saihara says softly. 

“Why are you getting all upset?” Ouma asks from his other side, having shifted himself into a vaguely upside down sitting position to let his head loll off the couch. “You know he does this everyday.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for him,” Momota says. “Hey, you know what you should do, Shuuichi? Ask Harumaki if you can go on one of her walks with her. Come on, I’ll go with you, so it’ll be the three of us like old times!”

“W-What?” Ouma starts to cry. “A-Are you saying you don’t want me and Yumeno-chan around? But S-Saihara-chan loves us, too, right?”

Momota rolls his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that—besides, would you even want to go on a walk? You hate exercise.”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to get all gross and sweaty like some people.”

“Hey! I don’t—”

“Um.” Saihara looks up from the volley of bickering to Yumeno standing in front of him, protectively fiddling with a couch cushion. “Are you gonna… go talk to Harukawa?”

Saihara swallows. “Ah… yeah.”

Momota gives him an encouraging smile. “Hey, don’t worry, man. It’ll go fine, trust me. And I’ll be right beside you the whole time.”

“That’s right,” Ouma says. “When she strangles you, Momota-chan will be right there to call the police.”

“How is saying that helpful, Ouma?” Momota says. “Would it kill you to be a little supportive?”

“I dunno, but I think it might kill Saihara-chan to talk to Harumaki-chan.”

“I’m not going to die,” Saihara says.

“I don’t think she’s that mad,” Yumeno says. “She might ask you if you want to die, but she doesn’t mean it.”

“Yeah!” Momota says. “Yumeno gets it!”

“She still sucks,” Ouma says.

Saihara nods. “I know, thank you, though, Yumeno-san.”

He stands, sending a weary look towards the hall Maki had disappeared down. Before he can take a step in her direction, Yumeno tugs on his sleeve. “Oh, and, uh,” she fidgets in place. “I don’t really mind it when you space out or mumble to yourself… but Harukawa really doesn’t like it. Especially whenever you mention Momota. So… don’t do that.”

“I know.” Saihara takes a deep breath, glancing back to the empty couch and then to Yumeno again. “Yumeno-san, do you want to come, too? Maybe instead of just me saying sorry, the three of us could have a little meeting.”

Her eyes widen. “You want me to come?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I said earlier, it’s not fair to ignore you when you’re in the same room.”

Yumeno doesn’t seem entirely sure how to respond to him before mumbling, “Okay, but, um,” she shuffles behind him. “You go first—just in case Harukawa’s still mad.”

Saihara gives her a half smile, not quite happy about his place as a human shield but accepting of his fate. As nice as fiction is, he knows that he can't ignore his reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And last one only way, way late, haha. I think this could honestly fit some of the other prompts, but I wanted to make it a vague continuation of the first scenario. Also I forgot how much I like writing Saihara and Yumeno's friendship, too, so not a super shippy way to end the prompts, but I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
